


Snow Angel

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-16
Updated: 2004-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom can't stand winter in New Zealand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

New Zealand in the winter was gorgeous for the first time. Maybe the snow’s pretty the second time. But by now you’re bloody sick of it all.

Can’t go anywhere without dressing like Nanook of the North (you’re going outside, Billy looks up from his tea and deadpans, “are you pregnant with a hippopotamus or is that just your jacket?”) and by the next day everything’s all mudslush and messed up and it’s like a black and white and brown hell. You’ve never understood why winter has to be cold and snowy. Yeah, it’s fun, you can zoom down mountains on shovels, but it’s too cold to surf so what’s the point?

You sludge through a field (so what? It was there; and also the only snow that wasn’t messed up by feet and trucks and rubbish) and you’re following footprints that look suspiciously like Billy’s... It’s set in stone, or rather snow, when you find the snow angel along the way, and you think about how ironic it is. Snow angel. Only Billy’s not snow, he’s a river; isn’t winter, he’s summer; day and not night; and the opposite of this awful mess the world is in winter. But it doesn’t keep him inside all the time; you can just see your friend out here nestled in his special scarf, and his nose red from the cold, and his breath frozen in the too-quiet air when he laughs happily at your anatomically correct snowman. Billy, the summer god, the only one who could make snow angels without being frozen, is the only thing in this chilly world that keeps you from going mad.

But Billy’s not here now, he came out here before you were even awake, you’ve gone and missed him again and all that’s left are his meandering footprints. As you pull your jacket closer to you in attempt to keep out the biting wind, you begin to wonder if he meant to be followed. Maybe so, you think, as the trail turns in a two-metre circle and keeps going. You follow them some more, and you’re just about to head in to try and thaw out if it’s not too late already, but you see something etched in the snow and squint to read it while standing in the smaller prints. A single word, carved into the snow with a tool so small it could only have been Billy’s ungloved finger.

‘Dominic.’

And suddenly, the winter doesn’t seem so bad.

The End


End file.
